Stumbling into Mischief

Eight

It was 12:14, lunchtime.

Richard and Clare had gone back to work after their eventful morning.

Richard was sitting at a table in the corner of the lunch room - alone - eating a cheese sandwich while observing the strange humans that surrounded him; if they could be classed as humans.

To his right, there was a table of men. Typical policemen - big, tough, and extremely noisy. They seemed to constantly bellow at each other; Richard could never understand why this was. Were they all slightly hard or hearing?

And then to his left was the table of women. This table was always quieter than the mens; the ladies sat closer together and whispered to each other. However, they'd often giggle at the idiotic men, which just encouraged them to continue their stupidity.

There were also normal people in the room. They sat in their own little groups, on the smaller tables, talking at an appropriate volume and just being normal. Richard liked those people.

But then there was Clare. She was sitting at a table ahead of him, with a rather young looking man. Richard had already decided that he was the mystery man who they were working with.

Appearance wise, he was Richard's complete opposite. He was quite big, with curly blonde hair and dark eyes. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing two tattoo covered arms and a nasty looking scar across his right hand.

Richard didn't even have one tattoo, let alone four million.

Clare was laughing. Richard soon found himself staring at her instead, appreciating her beautiful smile, and wishing he was the man sitting opposite her.

However, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a shadow looming over his table.

Richard quickly looked up. It was Douglas, his boss.

"Alright, Dick?"

Richard watched with a frown as Douglas slammed his tray of food on the table and sat down. Unsurprisingly, Douglas had two huge burgers and a completely random packet of crisps.

Richard stared at him in silence for a moment, and then replied quietly, "I... I suppose."

He couldn't help but wonder what on earth he wanted. It wasn't going to be a good thing, no doubt.

"Good. Because we've got lots of catching up to do." Douglas snorted, shoving a few chips into his mouth.

Richard's heart sank. He'd rather sit with 874 women than spend a lunchtime with Douglas. "We have?"

"Yup. So, where were you this morning, Dick?"

"Oh. Erm..."

"Erm?"

Richard looked down, trying to think fast - something he wasn't very good at.

"Well, I- I don't actually get paid for Saturday mornings... So I decided not to come in. I spent the morning at home... erm, watching T- T- TV."

"T- T- TV?" Douglas mocked, chuckling to himself. "Yeah, right. You'd never do that, Dick."

"Well I... I... I did." Richard stuttered, beginning to fiddle nervously with his sandwich. Sandwiches weren't exactly a brilliant thing to fiddle with - they just fall apart - but at that point Richard had no choice.

Douglas shook his head. "Don't be a twat. You spend your life at work because you've got nothing better to do at home. You don't watch TV. I bet you don't even have one."

Richard just nodded, looking down at his ruined sandwich. It was still edible.

"Therefore, when you don't turn up early for the first time in ten years, I can't help but think you're up to something..."